


You're A Hard Habit To Break

by spooninspoon417



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spooninspoon417/pseuds/spooninspoon417
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little snippet that lengthens the fight at the end of Trust Me. Sort of a character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're A Hard Habit To Break

His heavy breathing. Her tears. The small moment where they come together, her leaning into him for the slightest second and him turning himself away. It’s such a common moment for them, trying and failing, wanting and resisting, loving and hating. She’s not so used to this version of him. He’s strong and he’s tough and he’s devious. His grip on her wrists is tight and her pulse flutters under his hands. The tears keep falling, but she quiets down, her screams dying at the back of her throat. 

How dare he hurt her like this. How dare he try to steal what she loves. How dare he pull away from her and paint on a shit eating grin.  
She stays with her back against the wall because she’s so damn tired. This constant state of looking over her shoulder for the next deception was exhausting and here Dylan was, leading the goddamn parade. He’s still smiling and she feels the urge to slap him again, over and over, scratch with her nails and draw blood. Anything to get that smirk off his face. 

His favorite place to be was lodged firmly under her skin and there was no doubt that he was there at this very moment. She’s cracking in the midst of his mind game and he knows it. That’s why he keeps playing. 

“Why does Norman getting with a girl bother you so much, anyway? You’re too busy spreading your legs for that cop to even…” He doesn’t have a chance to finish the thought because she’s on him again. This time, she gets her feet in, too and he has to grab her by the hips and force her backward. She’s light, but she’s feisty and she gets in a couple of slaps to his jaw before he properly subdues her again. 

He uses his whole body to keep her against the wall and his eyes are on her, burning bright blue and dangerous. Norma tosses her head back, grunting out in frustration. 

“Stop!” It’s futile. The power trip is too much for Dylan to give up on. She tries to kick him again, but he forces his leg between hers and she gives a little gasp that he can’t categorize. 

“What’s so special about Norman, anyway? Huh? Is it because he doesn’t see what you’re doing to him?”

Her eyes shift away from his. “Let me go.” 

He’s spent too much time being second best. Too much time being the pet left out in the rain. He wants to be something else. Anything else. He wants to be someone who has power over her. 

“Answer the question.” 

She meets his gaze. Her face is hard. “He loves me. You don’t.” 

That’s it. That’s the only difference between him and Norman. Norman loved her and Dylan…Dylan doesn’t know what he feels. This woman shouldn’t have meant anything to him. She’d neglected him all his life, tossed him to the side like he was nothing and he should’ve hated her for it.

He stares at her. She’s fragile, he knows. She’s got hard exterior, but inside, she’s still a little girl. A little girl who cries herself to sleep; a little girl who has no one to run to; a little girl who craves a rescuer. And, inside Dylan, there’s a little boy who needs his mother; a little boy who reaches out and grasps at air; a little boy who loves and hates and dreams. 

Deception was their greatest trick. It’s all in the way they both pretend that nothing ever hurt. The truth was, everything left a scar that wouldn’t heal and an ache that didn’t stop. 

Especially the things they did to each other. 

Her hands press into his shoulders. She wants to push him away, but she ends up digging her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and pulling him closer instead. He’s solid and soft; confident and frightened; desperate and still somehow in control. They walk the same line of contradiction, of facades and feigned appearances. 

She studies him for a second, how his eyes hold a sadness that she knows is her doing. She’s destroyed him and rebuilt him. Her neglect left behind a longing, but it also taught him strength. He can fight and he can harm and he can do it with only his words. He doesn’t have to put his hands on her to show her just what he’s capable of. Slaps and kicks don’t have any effect on what’s already broken. What’s a little physical pain compared to an entire lifetime of getting what you want and having it forcibly ripped from your hands?

And, he wanted to continue the cycle. He wanted to take Norman from her. Norman, her last hope, her best friend, the only person she loved with everything she was. Tears burn her eyes again and Dylan’s face becomes a hazy image she can eviscerate. This time, she does shove him, but he barely budges. Another smile lights up his face. 

“I hate you.” The words are nothing more than a strained hiss. It’s the fourth time in three days she’s said that to him and it still manages to sting. And, she sees it. She catches the moment where that pain causes his bottom lip to tremble. 

It passes quick as it came. “I know you do.” He replies and there’s a smugness to it that irritates her. Under her skin is where he will stay. 

He goes on. “You want to know something? I don’t hate you.” He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

The doorbell rings and the moment is gone, whizzing by like a freight train. He lets her go and she calls out Norman’s name, foolishly thinking it’d be him waiting behind the door. It isn’t. It’s Sheriff Romero coming to arrest her for murder. 

Everything happens in slow motion, then. Norma being put in handcuffs and walked out of her own house, flanked by four officers. Dylan stays at the top of the stairs, observing the scene like an outsider, as if it wasn’t his mother being taken away. He wishes in that second that they were strangers. That it’d be better if he were just a drifter who’d needed a place to stay. He thinks maybe he could love her if that were the case. If she were nothing to him, maybe she could work her way up to being something. When she smiled at him or laughed at one of his jokes or told him that she was glad they’d met. 

That idea, of course, was ludicrous. She was his mother; he wouldn’t exist without her. Yet, there was nothing motherly in the visceral way she denied him affection. And, there was certainly nothing motherly in that ice blue glare she loved to throw his way. He ducks his head and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s nothing to her, but she could never be nothing to him. As much as he hates it, he’s unable to keep himself away. He’s a moth to the flame, enticed by the sight of vibrant, swaying orange fire and the sound of crackling wood. 

She’s the source of his destruction and the light that guides him home.


End file.
